


1098 Days

by Symphony_Hawthorn



Series: 1098 [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Injury, Isolation, Lance is on his own, Lost - Freeform, Sniper Lance (Voltron), Wormhole, Wormhole Incident, post-wormhole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 20:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8814688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Symphony_Hawthorn/pseuds/Symphony_Hawthorn
Summary: Day 1: The panic tore through himDay 2: Lands on first planetDay 30 (1 mos): Begins logsDay 285 (9.5 mos) :Learns enough of the language to communicate reasonablyDay 299 (10 mos): Sends first collection of logsDay 365: Flirted in a market placeDay 499 (1 yr 4 mos 11 days): Begins liberationDay 532 (1 yr 5 mos 14 days): Successfully frees area from controlDay 535 (1 yr 5 mos 16 days): Leaves planetDay 729 (2 yrs): Takes out outpostDay 750 (2 yrs 3 weeks): The SwampDay 872(2 yrs 4.75 mos): The trapDay 1093 (3 yrs): EggsDay 1098 (3 yrs 5 days):





	

The universe spun wildly. 

 

Seconds, ticks, minutes, hours? 

 

He’s not sure. 

 

His head had slammed just a bit too hard into the seat when he fell out of the wormhole. 

 

When the spinning stopped, he just floated; aimlessly. 

 

Shock had numbed his arms, trembling fingers too weak to guide the controls. 

 

Voice too quiet to give commands. 

 

Space just stretched before him. 

 

Eyes locked on the endless black. 

 

Hours? Days? 

 

Later, when the panic tore threw him, he screamed. 

 

Over and over he franticly tried to adjust the frequencies cursing every thing he had never learned. No feeble attempts at boosting the signal worked. No map capable of finding his way back; far beyond anything that had ever been taught on earth.  In the emptiest part of space, and no functioning active positioning system, he had no choice but to pick a direction and have faith that it would lead him somewhere. 

 

Landing upon the first planet he desperately hailed. Silence. Opening all maps to find a trail. Nothing.  Being too dangerous to open a distress beacon; he would wait on this planet for three months in hope of rescue or contact. Surviving on vegetation found in the rocky terrain seemingly devoid of anything but bird like creatures and fish far too fast to catch, in rivers far too wide and deep to cross. Three months of barely leaving his lion, keeping all frequencies open, and eyes tracking maps and stars long past ingraining them into memory. He tracked the days, refusing to move. Blind faith in those months keeping him still. The first rule they taught pilots; if stranded stay put. 

 

Four weeks in he discovered that the lion’s computer was able to take logs. It helped to be doing something with more purpose than to just aimlessly chat with his lion. Having not communicated with anyone for weeks, he was desperate for conversation. 

 

In the pale purple light of dawn on the 91st day, he left. Once again picking a direction with little more than the hope it would take him in the right direction. 

 

It took him three weeks to reach the next planet; the lions were not built with extended space travel in mind. 

 

Each planet was the same. 

 

Land, try all frequencies, analyze maps and then head out for food and water. Not all planets had things that were strictly edible but fortunately all seemed to have water that was safe enough to drink. The weight he had lost made him lethargic much of the time; making it harder to find food on planets where his only option was to hunt. Hunger pushed him enough to succeed. 

 

His travel was solitary. Thankfully, there seemed to be no Galra in this region of space but the long hours traveling between moons and planets was beyond quiet. He had taken to humming and making any noise he could think of. As time went on, any thought he had was simply said aloud. Blue, for all their sentience, was only capable of images and feelings. 

 

Four months in and 30 logs later he found himself staring at his maps as he flew through space, eyes glazing over. He thought of the plane on the way to the Galaxy Garrison.  That sensation of the unknown; he had felt it the first time he had ever gone through a wormhole too.  

Eight months in he found a planet with people. Tall and purple but distinctly not Galra. Iridescent wings and large, bright eyes destroyed that association. So far from anything he knew, it was no surprise when he found they did not speak any language he had known. The people he met were kind. Taking care to point and enunciate so he could learn bits and pieces of the language. 

 

His time with Slaebe and their small family stretched on. In time, he moved from sleeping in his lion and into their home. In the morning, he checked the computers and chopped wood with Tlabe, Slaebe’s child,before going to the market to fetch the fruits and nuts that were common fare of the planet and would laugh and cry “Bina” when the two would point at his stomach, motioning for him to eat more. 

 

One evening the laughter had turned to tears as he was reminded strikingly of his grandmother. That night, he slept in Blue. 

 

The next morning, he discovered he could send out zipped data files containing his logs. With shaking fingers, he programed the password and hoped beyond anything that only Altean technology could receive the files. 

 

Life was good on this small planet, despite the fact that he stuck out like a sore thumb.  He had to be sure to shave often, as any facial hair was too bizarre for the people here. Slaebe encouraged him to shave his head as well, given how much it made him stand out, but he would just shake his head and tell them ‘ _ bina _ ’; no, he couldn’t. Each time he thought about it he could practically hear his papi laughing, 

 

“ _ Tresoro, I have no hair because I gave it all to you! _ ” 

 

Eventually, he was able to haltingly explain that it was important family thing. 

 

Staying with Slaebe was peaceful, though it made him ache fiercely for his family. The more he contemplated being lost on the fringes forever the more it made him hurt.  That night as he stared at the black ceiling, envisioning what his family might be doing, what his friends might be doing – did they find each other? Was everyone alright? Did they talk about him? - screaming began.

Launching himself out of bed, he quickly got dressed in his suit and sought out Slaebe. 

Galra had come to gain control of this planet. They had heard of his lion from a few townspeople and started to attack. It was a small brigade, and the skirmish only lasted 15 minutes, but their destructive actions had taken their toll on the town and he could not help but look at the town and wonder if he could have stopped them if he had been more vigilant.  The people were thankful nonetheless. In the end however, he chose to leave. 

 

He had stayed on the planet for far too long anyway. As he cleared the planet’s atmosphere and began to head into open space, he realised it had been just over a year that he had been on his own. The anniversary had passed by and he did even notice.  If he remembered correctly, he had spent the day flirting with Hlame, who managed a nut shop. 

 

Somehow that thought made everything he had experienced feel like a slap to the face. 

 

Over the next year, he fell into a pattern. Find a planet, land, open and try the frequencies, check the maps, send out a bundle of logs, set out for supplies and people, see if the Galra were nearby and, eventually, sabotage and subterfuge. Blue, was not built for strength per say and was far more suited for ranged attacks. Along the way, he made adjustments to his lion, small things to make it more suitable to the type of travel he did. 

 

In the three weeks after he left Slaebe and their people, he got back into the habit of actively recording his logs and began to actively seek out Galra outposts. His first few attempts at ridding asteroids went moderately well. He was able to show up, blast and freeze his way into the compound and taking out the soldiers that had remained behind. These were often simply check points. The first time he targeted a cargo hub based in a small, rocky satellite he had just scraped through the skirmish. 

 

A nearby cargo ship came to the aid of the hub after a distress beacon went up. He learned that day that everything in the Garlan Empire had weapons. The ship was bulky and large, a long distance ship and had almost decimated him with its cannon. It provided enough of a distraction for the hub to properly mobilize and as a result, he was left to furiously dodge fire on all sides. He succeeded by the skin of his teeth only after he slammed his bayard into the control panel and managed to land a hit on the hub and cargo ship that ended in explosions. The blast so strong, that the debris hurled into space. Any combatants, including himself, were forced to ground on the planet below.  

 

Five nights later, as he went in search of supplies, he found himself in a firefight with the remaining Galran soldiers. It lasted longer than any battle he had been in. It was different to shoot a soldier up close – on that was not the standard robot sentinel. In desperation, he scaled a tree and spent the night trying to catch his breath and wipe the blood from his face. A day and a half later, he was able to finish them off in the safely of the foliage. 

 

He wondered if those cargo pilots had wanted to be fighter pilots.

From then on his methods began to switch to more careful ranged attacks. 

 

The planet he had gone to ground on turned out to be a trial by fire. A mining colony; native inhabitants of the planet made to toil away in the mines by force. He spent six weeks on the planet trying to deal with the Galra.  The locals were kind enough to offer shelter, which he denied. Thankfully, the people spoke a language similar enough to his own and he was able to get a fair bit of information about the schedules and layout of the mines from them.  He recorded every bit of information learned in his logs. This wasn’t going to be a battle that he could just take Blue into; too many people where in the mines at any one time. He recorded his logs knowing that he might not be coming back. 

 

They insisted upon paying him; the only payment he took was a duster with a large hood.

 

Small victories piling up under his belt, he continued to travel further into the system; his strategies taking on more of pattern. Somewhere along the line his bayard became more than just the rifle it once was. He found he could easily shift its form depending on the type of fight he was engaging in. Eventually, its seemingly default form became that of a sniper rifle. 

 

By the end of the second year, there were whispers among the Galra; a ghost taking back the outposts. A small few Galra soldiers swearing that it was a blue lion, these claims were hardly followed up on. Voltron had never been seen in these regions of space and had disappeared in a battle with Emperor Zarkon.  

 

On the dawn of the second anniversary, he found himself lining up a shot with his bayard with the intent to take out the receiver of a com-tower on an outpost. The orange and pink sunset over the water, cresting over the flat mountain in the distance reminded him of Baracoa. 

 

Adjusting the position of the rifle a hair to the left; he fired. Approximately 130 meters away, the receiver exploded. As quick as his shot, he got up and ran around the escarpment to fire another shot to further damage the tower. 

 

A few weeks later he found himself knee deep in a swamp. The least direct way into the hub but the safest option. There were too many Galran soldiers guarding the building. Taking out four two-party patrols and dodging between the too brightly lit areas he was able to sneak in. A quintessence storage facility.  He recorded a quick log and sent it back to Blue, hidden over five kilometres away deep under vines of the swamp.  The facility needed to be destroyed and with so many soldiers, he uncertain if he could make it out before the job was done. 

 

For two months he flew from moon to planet trying to find an environment safe enough for him to heal and throw off any followers. He sent off another data file. 

 

Each file grew smaller and smaller as time went on. He never intended to send what he recorded while he hid on the salt-flats planet.

 

The next planet had led him into a trap.  The Galran Outposts had seen his pattern and decided to end the “Ghost” that had been plaguing the system over the past year. A distress beacon lit up one of the frequencies, the attached message garbled but heard. People needed help. The source being a dead ship planetside. His scouting found a Galran facility. No trees or shrubbery to give cover, no hills or mountains. It was flat land; air barely breathable. His ribs still ached and his neck still twinged when he turned his head to fast but he ignored it. All attempts to scan the facility turned up negative. With no sign of life outside the facility he could not be sure if attacking it with Blue was wise or not. 

 

He waited until nightfall to try and get close. With no cover he had no choice but to set co-ordinance for Blue to hide in the distance and jump out once they flew over head. In and out with information and then regroup. 

 

The facility was filled with soldiers and no prisoners to speak of. 

 

When the firefight began he was actively pinned down. Sandwiched between a dead end and a couple of crates; he recorded what he thought would be his last log. With that in mind, he sent it off to Blue. Even with the distance between them he could feel the ache of his lion. Knowing that he had little chance, he did he best to prepare himself.  With nothing but his shield at 50 percent and his bayard shifted into a small rifle he threw himself into the fray. 

 

A stray shot destroyed the cover of a vent and with nothing to lose he fired blindly and jumped into it. 

 

Barely fitting into the tight space and unable to turn around he had nowhere to go but forward. Air pushed against his face and made it numb. The dim glow of his suit was the only light as he traveled further into the dark vents. His only direction being his connection to Blue. With luck, he came to a maintenance shaft. It was short lived, as he had no option but to run across the empty plain while desperately calling Blue for an extraction. The damages to his suit made it hard to breath; his vision was spotty and his hands and arms numb. He knew the Galra had spotted him, has he was forced to dodge their fire. It was a relief to see Blue in the distance. 

 

He had passed out sometime in their flight. When he came too they were on the dark side of some rocky satellite. He added a new log and fell asleep ignoring how hungry he was. 

 

He dreamed of making pastelitos with his brother and sister. 

 

The shot to his shoulder in his flight took a considerable time to heal; it ached considerably when he set up for a shot. The whole of the events from the trap had left him feeling low but he knew he could not stop. Without Voltron, or the efforts of the Paladins, the universe was in trouble. 

 

Much of his time was spent trying to find a planet that he could resupply on.  He was thankful for the peaceful ones he had found, but they were becoming fewer and fewer. As he traveled into further into the system more Galra appeared. He could not tell if it was because of his actions, but he began to suspect that it might be in part. On more than a few moons he found himself anchoring himself to Blue’s head and setting up shots over an escarpment or hill. Hours spent taking soldiers out one by one before climbing back in and destroying the base. 

 

He had found over time leaving behind an empty base, facility or hub was trouble. The Galra Empire would simply just return and repair it; ultimately returning the territory to their control. Leaving soldiers behind was not an option; he had learned that the hard way. 

 

It became routine to spot Galra ships and follow them to their destination. Blue would alert him to their presence if he was sleeping or otherwise not paying attention and he would follow them as best he could without engaging. Only when he was certain that he and Blue would have the upper hand they would engage. They would wait until the ship had docked, and survey for nearby ships. If none were found they would take them out. Otherwise, he would find a position and carefully snipe the enemy. 

 

The third anniversary was the first he gave any thought to. He broke out the eggs he found in the last outpost he took out; they were soaked in nunvill.

 

Five days later he found himself finishing a log while nested beside Blue’s ear before once again getting ready to settle into position. A portion of jerky he had found in a market on this planet that tasted a bit like croqueta and a bottle of water by his side as he began his wait. There was a wooded area before the compound that thankfully provided little cover from his position for the soldiers traveling through it but dense enough to hid the bodies where they fell. 

 

Four hours in and a severely cramped shoulder, was when he heard it. The sound of a large craft breaking the troposphere had him climbing inside his lion before he even saw the craft. The sight of lions halted him just inside of Blue’s open mouth.  Disbelief and a euphoria that was both Blue’s and his own filled him. 

 

Frantically climbing into the cockpit he turned on the speakers, laughing hysterically when he heard the other’s voices. They were focused on the compound he was planning to take out; on rescuing the prisoners there. Their entrance had the Galra mobilizing and the chaos began. Though his laughter and tears he joined their frequency, one he had stopped checking months ago. 

 

Effectively cutting off Shiro he cheered 

 

“I say Vol –! You say –!“ 

 


End file.
